


Tired of This Town Again

by the_deep_magic



Category: Actor RPF, Star Trek RPF
Genre: Bathroom Sex, M/M, Prostitution, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-29
Updated: 2009-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-19 05:31:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/197446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_deep_magic/pseuds/the_deep_magic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Are you about to ask what a guy like me is doing in a place like this?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tired of This Town Again

_****_Whiskey isn’t his drink, but this is some good shit and besides, it kind of fits the mood: dingy bar in the farthest outskirts of LA, torn leather seat covers on the bar stools, fog-thick haze of smoke in the air. The lights are low, but not low enough for Zach’s taste – not when he can still see eyes flitting over to him now and then, sizing him up. He tries not to let anyone get a good look at his face; if someone calls him “Sylar” tonight, he just might throw a punch or two.

“Mary Jane’s Last Dance” comes on the jukebox just as a figure sidles up and pulls out the bar stool next to him. “Mind?” asks the guy, at least acknowledging that there are half a dozen other seats at the bar that aren’t in Zach’s personal space.

Zach just shrugs; it’s not worth the effort to get annoyed. The guy’s drinking tequila – cheap shit, by the smell of it. Both men nurse their drinks for a few long minutes, and Zach finds himself appreciating the silent company. Makes him feel less like he’s drinking alone. The silence is broken when the guy mutters “Oh my my, oh hell yes” along with Tom Petty and that almost makes Zach crack a smile. Almost.

He does choose that moment to take a good look at the guy, only to see two brilliantly blue eyes staring back at him, and it takes him just a beat too long to look away. The burn of the whiskey down his throat is nothing compared to the way those eyes are burning into him, and Zach can’t help but turn to face him again.

Tequila Guy takes another sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving Zach’s face. After a moment, he says, “Aren’t you—?”

“Probably,” Zach says, cutting him off. He indulges in a moment of irrational disappointment – for a minute there, he had hoped… Fuck it, it doesn’t matter now. Now he just has to finish his drink and leave.

“No, never mind,” Tequila Guy says. “Thought you were this guy I met once. But you’re much hotter.”

Something in Zach’s gut burns with pleasure at the compliment, and also with shame at responding to the obvious come-on. “Does that line ever work?”

“You’d be surprised,” he says, rotating his upper body to face Zach and setting one elbow on the bar. That’s about the time Zach notices the near-pornographic fullness of his lips. “Most people respond to flattery on a subconscious level at least. But since this is LA, it’s usually a conscious reaction. And in this case it wasn’t flattery – you’re an inordinately attractive man.”

Zach actually laughs. “Are you about to ask what a guy like me is doing in a place like this?”

“With two straight whiskeys under his belt? No, I have a pretty good idea of what you’re doing here. I’m just wondering if you’d like some company.”

“The kind of company that commiserates over drinks at a shitty bar, or…” Zach purposefully trails off.

A slow, knowing grin stretches over Tequila Guy’s face, and damn if his smile isn’t every bit as luminous as his eyes. “Or,” he says.

Despite himself, Zach is interested. He lets his eyes coast down the guy’s body, not even bothering to disguise it. His plaid shirt is hideous, but it fits him snugly enough to hint at the well-toned musculature beneath – broad shoulders, strong arms, narrow waist. A body that’s meant to be enjoyed, no doubt. His jeans look so well-worn as to be soft to the touch, but it’s the sizeable bulge that draws Zach’s attention.  Zach takes a moment to imagine him naked, and even if his mind is exaggerating, he likes what he sees.

“Rather forward, aren’t you?” Zach says, chasing it with another sip of his whiskey.

“Have to be,” he says, running a finger around the rim of his glass. “It’s my livelihood.”

Zach should have guessed. “So that’s how it is.”

“Yup,” Tequila Guy replies without an ounce of shame, and there’s something distressingly intriguing about it.

Even though Zach should probably leave, he doesn’t. “You really think I need to pay to get it?”

“Not at all. Eyes like that, hips like that, I’m pretty sure that you could walk into any bar in the city and not a man or woman would turn you down.”

Zach can’t help the sardonic grin that twists his lips. “And yet here you sit, plying your wares to someone who’s not buying.”

“Hey, I’ve got an angle to play,” he says with another deceptively sweet smile. “Three reasons why you should take my offer. Wanna hear them?”

“Why not?” Zach mutters, emptying his glass and turning to face him.

“One: I’m here and now. I doubt many of our fellow patrons catch your discerning eye. Sure, you _could_ go somewhere else to pull, but I’m guessing that requires a wardrobe change and a significant attitude adjustment, neither of which you’re up for this fine evening, if the whiskey is any indication.”

“Painting yourself as the least unappealing option – not the tactic I expected, I’ll admit.”

“I’m building up to better,” he says, a little defensively. “Two: I’m discreet. It’s an absolute necessity in my profession, and you don’t have to worry about an anonymous source supplying the tabloids with your sexual proclivities.”

That confirms what Zach had already been pretty sure of – Tequila Guy knows exactly who he is. It should be a deal breaker, but goddamn, those eyes are hard to look away from, and Zach’s body is already anticipating the… transaction. “That’s nice, but I kind of have to trust you on that, don’t I?”

“True,” the guy says, leaning back a little. “But you know I work around here, so I’m trusting you not to call the cops or beat the shit out of me. And I’m a man of my word, if that holds any sway with you.”

Fuck it all, it does. “Before we go any further, we should probably talk financial details.”

“How prudent. For fifty, I suck you off in the men’s room. Two hundred gets you the full hour, and five hundred buys you the night.”

Zach snorts. “Fifty for a blow job? You think pretty highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“It’s not arrogance,” he says, licking his lips. “Well, not _all_ arrogance. You’ve been staring at my mouth since I sat down. Think about it. No, really, close your eyes and picture it: my pretty lips stretched around your cock as you fuck my throat. I’ve got no gag reflex at all – you can thrust as deep as you want, and I’ll just take it and take it.”

A quiet groan slips out of Zach’s mouth before he can stop it. “You do have a certain way with words.”

Tequila Guy chuckles, leaning in and dropping his voice until it’s barely above a whisper. “That brings me to my third point: you buy an hour or more, and you can have whatever you want. You can have me on my hands and knees, on my back, against the wall, anything. My body’s yours to use. Any filthy thing you can imagine, I’ll do it and I’ll beg for more.”

God, but it’s an appealing thought: taking pleasure in this man’s beautiful body without guilt or expectations, only the changing hands of a little money. And Zach’s got more than enough money. He tries to keep his gaze level, to keep from betraying how badly he wants this. “Think that’s enough to persuade me?”

“Well, I’ve got a bonus fourth reason: I’m worth every penny.” With that, he sits back and coolly drums his fingers on the bar. “Interested, or should I buy another drink and move on?”

“I think we can make an arrangement,” Zach says, trying to prevent his fingers from fumbling as he fishes the cash out of his wallet to pay the tab. He checks to see how much cash he has on him – fuck, yeah, he’s flush, he can keep this guy busy all fucking night if he wants to. He surreptitiously pulls two hundred out, but only shows Tequila Guy a fifty. “Let’s start with the blow job. If you’re as good as you say, we’ll discuss more. Oh, and what’s your policy on kissing?”

He grins, licks his upper lip again. “I love it. Pay my tab and this mouth is yours.”

Zach lays another twenty on the bar and stands up a little too quickly, knocking his bar stool back with a loud scrape against the floor. Fortunately, none of the other patrons – few as there are – even spare him a glance. Tequila Guy leads and Zach follows a few steps behind, though if anyone were paying attention, it’s pretty clear where they’re headed. Zach doesn’t even bother to pretend that he’s not staring blatantly at the guy’s ass – truth be told, it’s pretty spectacular, and Zach’s hands itch to touch it, squeeze it until the guy moans like the whore that he is.

As Tequila Guy reaches the men’s room, he turns to face Zach and backs through the door. “So what should I call you? In my head, I’ve been going with Tall, Dark, and Emotionally Unavailable, but that’s kind of hard to scream.”

Of course, Zach doesn’t want say his real name, even if he’s pretty sure the guy already knows it, but he likes the idea of something that sounds similar, something he can pretend is his name falling from those luscious lips. “Hmmm… how about Jack?”

“Jack: manly, generic. I like it.”

“So, Tequila Guy, what should I call you?”

He laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling in an irresistible way.   “Anything but ‘Tequila Guy.’ Chris is fine.”

“Chris? Not your real name, I assume,” Zach says in an attempt to distract himself from their grungy surroundings.

“Not even close. But for tonight, I’m Chris,” he says, his eyes twinkling in the flickering bathroom light as he grabs Zach by the hands and tugs him into the larger of the two stalls. It’s a horrible cliché – a quick fuck with a whore in dirty bathroom stall – but this Chris is so beautiful and eager that Zach can’t find it in himself to care.

As soon as the stall door is locked, Zach pulls Chris into a deep, possessive kiss. He sort of loves this guy’s cocky attitude, but he also wants to remind him who’s paying here. Chris moans against his mouth, and while Zach reminds himself that it’s mostly just playacting, his cock twitches hard in his jeans at the sound. Chris kisses back fiercely, his tongue stroking against Zach’s, but he lets Zach set the pace instead of dropping straight to his knees, so maybe he’s genuinely enjoying himself.

Without pulling away from Chris’ hot, searching mouth, Zach leans back against the stall divider and fists his hands in the other man’s shirt. He tugs the hem gently from his pants, wanting to feel some skin under his hands. Chris gasps a little when Zach’s hand strokes over the hot, soft skin of his lower back, and Zach’s already pretty sure this is going to be more than worth the fifty bucks. He starts to unbutton the hideous plaid shirt as he teases Chris’ lips with soft swipes of his tongue. When the shirt is hanging open, Zach runs a hand down Chris’ torso, appreciating the hard muscle of his chest and abs. No matter this guy’s profession, he certainly takes care of his body.

But when Zach goes to push the shirt off his shoulders, Chris grabs his wrists. “Uh-uh. Touch all you want, but the clothes don’t come off unless you pay for the full hour.”

Zach rolls his eyes, but reaches around Chris’ back under his shirt to pull him flush against Zach’s body. Chris presses himself hard against Zach’s chest, writhing a little to rub his nipples against the slightly rough weave of Zach’s sweater. The little bit of desperation in Chris’ touch is making Zach crazy, and he thrusts a leg between Chris’ to give the other man something to grind against. He lets it go on for a while, pulling back and opening his eyes to watch Chris rut shamelessly against the hard muscle of his thigh.

When the sounds Chris is making start to go up in pitch, Zach firmly grips the other man’s hips and pushes him away. Chris' eyes open slowly and he looks a little dazed for a moment – Zach isn’t being deliberately cruel, but he does want Chris riding the edge with him. Those eyes are too captivating to pass up the opportunity to see the ecstasy in his face when he comes.

But Zach wants his needs attended to first. “On your knees,” he commands quietly, unbuckling his belt.

The floor looks filthy, but Chris doesn’t so much as glance at it as he slides down Zach’s body to kneel at his feet. Zach widens his stance a little as he pushes down his briefs just enough to free his cock, and the hungry look in Chris’ eyes makes him immediately forget about the horrible bathroom stall and anyone outside it.

Chris tilts his head up – eyes clear and wide, cheeks flushed – and opens his mouth like a penitent receiving communion, and Zach’ll be damned if that isn’t about a dozen sick fantasies of his brought to life. He carefully guides his cock into the kneeling man’s mouth, and Chris lets the weight of it rest on his tongue for a moment while his eyes slide shut so earnestly that Zach wonders if he isn’t offering up a prayer of thanks. Fuck, this guy is _good_ , has Zach nearly trembling before he moves at all, with nothing more than the lush, wet heat of his mouth. When he does begin to move, bobbing his head with long, slow strokes of his tongue, Zach keens and digs his hands into Chris’ hair. It’s too short for Zach to really exert any control, but that’s just as well – Zach wants to enjoy this, to let it build and build until he can’t help but fuck Chris’ mouth. For fifty bucks, he wants a good, slow burn before he comes.

Chris is apparently excellent at reading people – an essential skill in his line of work – because he seems to get it, teasing Zach’s cock with the point of his tongue, pulling back to place a lewd, wet kiss to the tip. His eyes are open now, but the lids droop just a little with lazy pleasure, like he has all night to drive Zach insane and he knows it. It sure as hell doesn’t _look_ like an act when he presses down on the bulge in his own jeans and moans around Zach’s cock, the vibrations making Zach thrust his hips forward until he hits the back of Chris’ throat. The kneeling man grins – or does so as best he can around a mouthful of Zach – and makes a production out of inhaling carefully through his nose before pushing forward, taking more and more of Zach’s length until his nose is buried against the dark curls at Zach’s lower belly.

Zach’s gasp echoes in the tiny bathroom – he’s been deep-throated before, but this is exquisite, his cock gripped tightly in the undulating heat of Chris’ throat. Chris pulls back until just the head is resting between his lips, then sinks down again. He does it over and over again, the pace so slow that Zach is starting to sweat with the effort of keeping still. Finally, he seizes Chris by the back of the head and begins to thrust deeply and evenly, and Chris fucking _laughs_ like this is what he was after all along. Their eyes lock, Chris staring intently like he’s daring Zach to thrust harder, to try to give him more than he can take, to come down his throat so Chris can drink him down like the greedy whore he is.

“St-stop!” Zach all but shouts and Chris backs off in surprise. Zach hauls him to his feet and plunges a hand in his own pocket to pull out the other hundred and fifty dollars and stuff the bills in Chris’ shirt pocket. He hates the way his hands shake when he does it, but pride be damned, he’s taking everything this gorgeous man has to offer.

The corner of Chris’ abused mouth quirks up in a sardonic grin, but before he can say anything, Zach groans “Turn around” and pushes Chris to face the graffiti-covered stall door. “Have to fuck that ass,” he growls against the back of the other man’s neck, yanking the shirt down his back and off his arms to get a good look at what he paid for.

“Yeah,” Chris murmurs, arching a little to show off the muscle definition in his back and shoulders. Hell, Zach thinks, between the arrogance and that powerful body, Chris would make one hell of a top under other circumstances. But right now, he’s gripping the top of the stall door and grinding his ass back against Zach’s hips, and that’s exactly how Zach wants him.

The lube and condoms are right there in Chris’ back pocket, and again, the utter lack of shame makes Zach’s cock throb. He roughly works open Chris’ jeans and shoves them down to his ankles so Chris can spread his legs wider. Yeah, that ass is a thing of beauty, and the moan Chris lets out as Zach squeezes each firm cheek let Zach know exactly why his time is worth two hundred an hour. He kneads the muscles there, parting the cheeks to get a good look at the tight pink pucker of Chris’ hole. If they weren’t a whore and his john in the bathroom of a sleazy bar, Zach might’ve dropped to his knees right there, generously laving that tight ring of muscle with his tongue, teasing him open until Chris begged for his cock.

But there’s no time for that now, not with the soft whimpering sounds Chris is already making and the way Zach has to run through lines from old plays in his head to keep from coming while he rolls the condom on. Chris is surprisingly tight around his lubed fingers and Zach makes sure to graze his prostate on every other thrust until the other man is rutting helplessly against the cold metal of the stall door. He’s murmuring a litany of the most obscene things Zach has ever heard, and even though Zach knows it’s his job to beg for it, the words still hit Zach low in the gut when he hears them in that low, rough voice.

“Jack, goddamnit, c’mon, quit teasing and _fuck me_.”

He doesn’t overplay it, either, letting the vulnerable stance of his body – legs spread, back arched, hands clutching the top of the door for support – beg for him, and that’s even more irresistible to Zach than his words. He pushes in slowly, loving the sight of his cock sinking into that sweet, tight ass. When he’s buried in Chris to the hilt, he molds himself to the other man’s back and curls his own fingers around the top of the stall door, giving him the leverage to piston up into Chris’ body with such strength that Chris is forced to the tips of his toes on the apex of each thrust. Now that Zach’s paid for the full hour, he’s through with the slow burn – he just wants get them both off fast and hard.

The whole stall divider creaks ominously with every pump of his hips and Chris is practically wailing, leaving no doubt in the minds of anyone who is anywhere near the bathroom as to what’s going on in there. Maybe Zach should be ashamed, but it’s too good to even think about stopping, Chris clenching tightly around him on each outstroke with nothing but the maddeningly frictionless pressure of the metal door against his own leaking cock. Zach thrusts in deep and holds. “Can you come like this?” he growls. “No hands on you?”

Chris nods frantically and squirms between Zach’s body and the door, desperate for the other man to keep moving, and Zach relents. He angles his thrusts so that Chris shouts his name at each one, and before long Chris is erupting helplessly all over the stall door with an _oh god Zach_. The sight of it is all it takes to fling Zach into the abyss, biting into the back of Chris’ neck as he comes deep within the burning vise of his body.

His hips are still rocking gently against Chris’ when Zach twines the fingers of one hand with Chris’ over the top of the door. He brings his other arm down to wrap around Chris’ chest to pull him back against Zach’s body and away from the mess on the door. Chris chuckles and lets his head drop back lazily against Zach’s shoulder, murmuring with pleasure as Zach drops soft kisses along his throat and jaw.

“You called me Zach, there at the end,” Zach whispers with a soft laugh.

“Shit, I did, didn’t I?” Chris groans. “But ‘Jack’ is too close to Zach, anyway. Can’t expect my lust-addled brain to tell the difference.”

“You’re lucky, actually. I didn’t know you were going to ask that and the first name that popped into my head was Harold.”

This earns him a genuine belly laugh as Chris rests all of his weight back on his own feet and turns to face Zach. “God, you’d never let me hear the end of that, screaming your cat’s name in the throes of ecstasy.”

Zach picks Chris’ eyesore of a shirt up off the bathroom floor, unsure if he should offer it back to Chris or just burn it. “You’re not wearing this until it’s been washed. Several times. In bleach.”

“Well, I’m not walking out of here half-naked.”

“Oh, please, everyone within a twenty mile radius knows we weren’t exactly playing gin rummy in here.” But Chris just stares Zach down until he relents and begins to tug at the hem of his sweater. “Fine, you can wear my undershirt.”

Chris pulls his pants back up as Zach wrestles his shirts off while trying not to touch anything else. When he hands over the shirt, Chris takes a long moment to gaze at Zach’s naked chest, still a little shiny with sweat. “Mmm, tell me you were into that as much as I was.”

“More,” Zach says with a grin, hooking his fingers in Chris’ belt loops and pulling their bodies together.   “I almost lost it when you told me to picture your lips around me. Fuck, Chris, no matter how many times I see that, it never gets old.”

They kiss gently for a dozen heartbeats, just the soft play of lips on lips, until Chris pulls back reluctantly and tugs Zach’s white t-shirt over his head. It’s tight on him, showing off the bulge of his biceps as he gathers toilet paper to wipe off the stall door, and it’s almost painful for Zach to tear his eyes away as he pulls his own sweater back on.

“So, good idea?” Chris asks, eyes sparkling mischievously.

“Fucking _brilliant_ idea,” Zach agrees. “Though next time let’s set this up in the bar of a high-end hotel so we have a room to go to and neither of us ends up kneeling in E. coli. Now give me my two hundred bucks back.”

“No way!” Chris laughs, yanking the bills from the rumpled shirt and cramming them in his jeans pocket. “I fucking earned this!”

“Ah, but I didn’t get my full hour,” Zach says, throwing an easy arm around Chris’ shoulders as they leave the bathroom, ignoring the scandalized stare of a bartender.

“You got enough,” Chris snorts. “Besides, you’ll have your own chance to earn it back.” Zach waits for the punch line. “On your knees.”

“You think two hundred is enough for an hour with me? I know exactly how much you make, Pine, and I’m not sure you can afford me.”

It’s an empty threat, but the gleam in Chris’ eyes lets Zach know that, whatever the price, Chris will gladly pay.

 

 **Epilogue -- One Week Later**

Chris is looking for a red rose. Cliché, yes, but also easily obtainable and highly visible against the charcoal jacket in whose lapel it should be tucked, which he was told would be his companion’s identifying features. God, Chris loves a man in a charcoal suit.

The hotel lounge bustles with activity. It’s a Friday night, so the bar is surrounded by business men and women either celebrating this week’s wheelings and dealings or trying to forget them in a haze of alcohol. Chris can’t imagine that the man he’s looking for is among that crowd. He scans the booths, looking for a dark head of hair and the rose.

He finds both tucked into a booth at the far end of the lounge and _oh_ , the man they adorn is truly a vision, all dark eyes and sensual mouth. Chris practically glides across the room, heedless of the stumbling patrons and overworked waitresses, until he’s standing by the table. Upon seeing Chris, the man rises easily, smoothing his tie and offering his hand. “You’re Christopher Whitelaw?”

“None other,” Chris says, enjoying the other man’s strong handshake. “I’m afraid the service didn’t give me your name.”

“Zachary,” he says with a small, mischievous smile, and Chris looks him up and down appraisingly. Looks to be worth the money, this one.

“Mind if I have a drink before we begin?” Chris asks, sliding into the booth opposite Zachary, not bothering to hide the pleasure he takes at glancing over the other man’s handsome face, the strong set of his shoulders, the grace of his hands as he clutches his own drink.

“Please do,” Zachary says. “It’s your time, after all.”

When the waitress stops by, Chris orders scotch, neat, and flirts with her until she actually manages to crack a smile. He looks back at Zach to see one manicured, elegant eyebrow raised. “Oh, don’t be jealous. Just brightening her evening.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were showing off,” says Zachary with thinly disguised amusement.

Chris smiles back coyly. “Now why would I need to do that? I believe I’m assured of your attentions for the rest of the evening.”

“I’m an escort, not a psychologist,” Zachary says, leaning back in the booth and scanning the whole of Chris’ upper body. “But if I had to guess, I’d say you think you have something to prove to me.”

“And what would that be, oh keen observer of human behavior?”

Zachary waits until the waitress has set down Chris’ drink, winked at him, and walked away before locking eyes with Chris and answering, “Your desirability. Your obvious lack of need for purchasing my services.”

“And yet, here you are,” Chris says, taking a long, slow drink without ever looking away.

“Here I am – ready, willing, and irrefutably able.”

“Irrefutably able,” Chris repeats, licking his lips. “I like that.”

“If that impresses you, prepare to be utterly awestruck by my other talents,” Zachary says softly with a slow smile that’s nothing short of lascivious.

Chris swigs his drink. Maybe the eagerness is breaking character a bit, but if he doesn’t get Zach upstairs soon, he’s going to drag him right across the table and have his way with him right here. “I believe I’m finished with my drink. In fact, I’m a bit tired of this environment altogether – too many people.”

Zach stands, effortlessly as ever, and nods toward the bank of elevators. “Lay on, Macduff.”

As the elevator doors close, Chris can’t help but grin – this is going to be so much fun. Even better than the bar, now that they’ve got a ridiculously expensive suite at their disposal. And he’s totally gonna get Zach back for that Bones-esque psychologist line.


End file.
